


Button

by missdibley



Series: The Red Nose Diaries [37]
Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Fellatio, Flirting, Fluff, Long Distance Relationship, New York City, Smut, Teasing, blowjob, intercourse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 14:53:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6524635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missdibley/pseuds/missdibley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom and Carmen find a few days in the middle of his hectic schedule to celebrate her birthday with some laughs, some tears, and a lot of love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“It feels weird, Button.”

“What does, baby?”

“Being in New York without you.”

“Aw, sweetheart...”

“And on your birthday, no less.”

“Well...”

“Happy birthday, Button.”

“You already wished me a happy birthday.”

“I know...”

“Remember? You did it when we had phone sex last night.”

“Right. And why didn’t we do it on FaceTime?”

“I have this thing on my face.”

“What thing? Button, you’re gorgeous.”

“I know that but I didn’t want you looking at me, all hot and about to come, and think _What the fuck is that thing on her chin?_ ”

“I wouldn’t have thought that!”

“You would! It looks crazy!’

“Send me a picture then.”

“No!”

“If you don’t, I’m going to do my Michael Caine impression.”

“Ew! No!”

“Yes! Picture, madam.”

“Hold on... there.”

“Oh, that’s not so bad.”

“It’s gross.”

“It’s like a beauty mark."

“It’s casting a shadow!”

“I think you look gorgeous.”

“Hmph.”

“You know I’m right.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“I’ll take that.”

“How are you feeling?”

“A bit tired. Can’t wait until you get here.”

“What would you like to do when I get there?”

“Shag. Sleep. Repeat.”

“Is that all?”

“Eat. I went to Veneiro’s like you recommended. We should go back for cannolis.”

“Oh yes, baby.”

"And we should do something special for your birthday.”

“Like what?”

"Matching tattoos!”

“Really?”

“Why not? We’re two somewhat reasonable adults...”

“Only somewhat reasonable?”

“Yes. We’re adults, and we can do what we want.”

“So matching tattoos? Really?”

“Well…”

“Chickening out already, Cambridge?”

“Of course not!”

“So if we go to the grossest tattoo parlor on the Lower East Side…”

“Does it have to be the grossest one?”

“Second grossest, then.”

“Thank you, darling.”

“Anything else?”

“I miss you. I love you. Happy birthday. See you when you land.”

“Must be nice.”

“What?” I sputtered. I looked up, grimacing slightly when I saw the speaker standing just outside my office door.

“See you in a few hours, love,” I whispered into my phone before setting it down.

Emily Vigan didn’t wait for me to nod before coming into my office, clutching a Costa cup in her hand. Green eyes flashing, she stepped into a spot of sunlight that picked up the expensive highlights in her carefully arranged hair.

“What must be nice?” I folded my hands in my lap and sat back. A fellow American expat, she’d been in the London office longer than I had. When I discovered that I had gotten the position she’d been lobbying for, I finally had an explanation for the frosty reception she’d given me ever since I started six months ago.

“All that travel.” Emily looked at the suitcase that sat, packed and ready, next to the door. She tucked a lock hair behind her ear. “First you’re here, then you’re there. Australia, LA, now New York.”

“It’s part of the job. You know that,” I said evenly. “When Martha hired me, she explained I’d have to take up some of her duties while she was on maternity leave.”

“Of course,” replied Emily. She peered at the back of a framed photo of Tom and me that sat on the corner of my desk. “All that face time with managing directors, senior management. The international projects, early access to new research. Doesn’t hurt that your boyfriend is a film star.”

 _I knew it._ “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean…” Emily shrugged. “We’ve practically got the same CV. I’ve got seniority, some might say. But you get the good stuff. The glamour. Doesn’t hurt the company image to have Tom Hiddleston’s current bit of stuff on their payrolls.”

 _Deep breath, Carmen._ “Last I checked, my title was vice president, not ‘current bit of stuff’. You’re still a manager, though, isn’t that right?”

Emily tutted at me. “Oooh, touché. But it wouldn’t do for England’s biggest heartthrob be with anybody less than a superstar in her field. Wouldn’t do the exchange any good if you were just some anonymous bird collecting a cheque. Gotta be a star, Carmen. Or can I call you Starmen?”

I snorted. “Starmen? Did you come up with that all by yourself?”

“I heard some of the assistants in the canteen say it when they were looking at The Daily Mail,” Emily retorted.

Taking a deep breath, I stood up. Closing my laptop, I slid it into my briefcase along with its charger. I set my case on the floor next to my luggage as I pulled on my trench coat. When I finally looked at Emily again, she had a smug look on her face.

“Emily, thanks for the nickname. I can’t imagine how satisfying it must be to think you’re the first person to bring it to my attention.”

“Uh…”

“I can’t do anything about The Daily Mail, the assistants, or even you talking about the weather, the price of eggs, or what you think you know about me or my place here. It is your right to speculate about my private life, tedious and shallow as that may be.”

Emily’s already thin lips narrowed so they were nearly invisible.

“What I _can_ do, though, is speak to Martha about our conversation here. Tell her what you said, and the manner in which you said it. Then ask her, and our lovely human resources manager, why you would want to make me uncomfortable, try to create a hostile environment for me, by implying that the only reason I work here, is because of who you think I am personally involved with.”

“I wasn’t… you don’t…” Emily sputtered.

“Harassment. I know you’ve been here longer, Emily, much longer and still in the same position you were five years ago. Is it pronounced HARE-ess-ment in England? Or her-ASS-ment? Either way, I think that’s what’s going on here.” I tutted at her. “Or do I simply tell Martha we had a nice chat where you let off some steam before wishing me a happy birthday and a bon voyage as I head off to New York for another work trip?”

“I…” Emily looked confused. She was expecting Carmen of The Daily Mail, the Carmen [who went off on Sienna Miller in a nightclub last fall.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4872067/chapters/11169031) And I was prepared to give it to her.

I’m not saying that that particular Carmen doesn’t exist anymore. But I’m in a different place. Literally and figuratively. I live in London. I work here. I have a few new friends, some I met through Tom, some from work, and some from the university alumni club. The fantasy I had of being with Tom turned into a reality of living with him that was so much better. This was a life I was working hard to build. I couldn’t let an outsider interfere with that.

“Well?” I extended the handle of my roller suitcase. “Was there anything else?”

Emily shook her head. The expression on her face was hard to read, but the flash in her eyes was gone. She looked like she wanted to say something else, but thought better of it. She spun on her heel and left.

As I walked through the office, I said quick goodbyes and “Have a great weekend” on the way to the lift. I had a long flight ahead of me, two days with Tom, then a week of work in New York while he continued his schedule of promotional appearances, or, as I liked to tease, Tom flirting with and getting flirted with by journalists. We were two normal, almost boring adults conducting a relationship. Business as usual.

And then I stepped outside of the building.

It was only a quarter mile to the tube. I liked taking the train to Heathrow, using that time to transition from the work day to the weird limbo of the airport. Get my Kindle sorted, stick my passport and wallet in the same pocket as my phone. Be another commuter on the train.

But it was not every Londoner who stepped outside her door to find a few photographers yelling “Carmen! Hey birthday girl! Over here! You look great for 37! Can we see the ring, love? Anything to the rumours about Tom and…” They stood across the street, yelling over the hordes of City bankers and traders, but I could still hear them. I waited a second, tried not to frown too much, then hailed a cab with my right hand while I hid my left hand, the one with my engagement ring sparkling on the ring finger, in my pocket.

The flight was uneventful, though I wished I had been able to rest. I was too excited, perhaps, or just a little keyed up after talking to Emily, and then those photographers. I just didn’t want any of that on me when I finally saw Tom.

Once we landed at JFK, I checked my phone for messages. There was one:

> T: u here yet - text when u land luv u
> 
> C: yes bb heading to cab stand
> 
> T: u should have let me send car.
> 
> C: work will pay for cab
> 
> T: i’ll pay for an SUV that will speed if it means you get here quicker
> 
> C: impatient
> 
> T: button u have no idea
> 
> C: patience thomas
> 
> T: patience my ass
> 
> C: naughty
> 
> T: button u have no idea

Smirking, I tucked my phone away just as I caught sight of the cab line. In my excitement, I forgot that Friday evening is prime time. The line folded over itself, made up of people idly kicking their bags along as they yelled into their cell phones. I cursed my foolishness, then went back inside to see if I could squeeze onto one of the buses that shuttle passengers among the airports and various spots in midtown Manhattan. Finding those buses full, I was about to summon a car via Uber when I saw it. Or him, rather.

A handsome man wearing a _guayabera_ with tailored trousers and polished loafers stood with a bunch of uniformed drivers. Instead of an iPad displaying his passenger’s name, he held instead a piece of white cardboard upon which the word “BUTTON” was written in bright blue ink. When I approached him, his mouth widened into a smile.

“Mrs. Carmen Button?” He asked. When I nodded, he made a small bow. “Mr. Button says I told you so.” When I laughed, he joined me. “Oh, and also he says happy birthday, Mrs. Button.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Carmen christen yet another hotel room floor.

The handsome man dropped me off in Midtown, at a hotel that didn’t need to be on any of the big avenues to be considered luxurious or important. A man in dark suit opened my door, nodding at a valet who relieved me of my bag before he escorted me into the building. He was Joao, the general manager, and he whisked me through the lobby to a small elevator that had only buttons for the ground floor and the penthouse.

Once I slid my keycard into the slot and hit the button marked “PH”, I felt like I was flying, the elevator rising so fast my ears felt blocked. I was popping them when we arrived, and the door opened to reveal Tom waiting for me in the corridor.

“Button!” He rushed into the elevator and started peppering my face with kisses.

Laughing, I gave him a little push. “You gonna let me out of here, or is this elevator the only thing I’m going to get to see in New York?”

“Well, you have to admit, this is an awfully beautiful lift,” replied Tom with mock seriousness. He grabbed my suitcase in one hand, my own hand in the other, and walked me down a short corridor to a double door.

The suite was like every other hotel suite or room I’ve ever stayed in with Tom. Sumptuous, tastefully decorated, serene. I didn’t consider myself sophisticated enough to think of this as the norm, or cynical enough not to enjoy the luxury. But I didn’t need all of this to know I was lucky and immensely privileged to be here. All I needed was this man who carefully set my suitcase on the luggage rack next to his, helped me take off my shoes, and waited for me to curl up in the big window seat before tucking himself in beside me.

My back against the cool glass, I nuzzled the crook of Tom’s neck. He was so warm, and his breathing slow and regular. But when I began toying with the buttons of his shirt, I could feel his heartbeat quicken.

“You tired, Button?”

I shook my head, then pressed a kiss to his collarbone.

“It isn’t too late, shall we get supper?” When I nodded, Tom kissed the top of my head. “Good. Let’s get you something to eat.”

He stood up, rolling his head and groaning with relief. Just as he was about to pull me up with him, I placed his hands on my shoulders.

“Carmen?”

I looked up, finding a tiny smile playing on his lips. I kept my eyes on his face while my fingers teased at his fly. Despite the dim light in the room, I didn’t need to see what I was doing. I just wanted to look at him.

“Button…” Tom whispered.

“Sh-sh-sh-shhhh.” I didn’t take down his trousers, but reached in and began to stroke him. I never ceased to marvel at him, at how his dick, so big and hard, could feel so velvety to the touch. When I brought it out, I pressed a kiss to the head. Tom swore under his breath, and I flicked my tongue out at the slit.

“Car, please…” he pleaded.

“Begging already?” I tutted at him. “Tom, I’m surprised. Where’s your patience?”

Closing my eyes, I took the head of his cock between my lips. My tongue swirled around the head, flicking at the slit before I released him. I spit a little into the palm of my hand (inelegant, sure, but effective) then continued to stroke him. I swallowed him, sometimes letting his cock slip out of my mouth so I could lick up and down the shaft. His fingers were in my hair, tugging slightly because he was so eager. His hips bucked slightly, and I pressed my hands to his hips. Steadying him as I relaxed my mouth and then my throat, I began to bob my head carefully.

“Oh Carmen, my Carmen…”

The sound of Tom saying my name the way he did, in such a moment of intimacy and tenderness… it made me feel warm, and safe. Close. So close. Happy. Loved. Just as I tightened my grasp on his hips, I felt Tom’s hands on top of mine. I released him, looking up questioningly as I did.

When he began to pull off his shirt, I eased his trousers down his legs. I was about to undress myself when he stopped me. With a quick shake of his head, he laid me on the floor in front of him, and knelt between my legs.

“Tom…” I started, stopping when he pressed an index finger to his lips. I could do nothing but wait for him to decide what offending garment would come off me first.

The navy blue cardigan was the first to go and, already being unbuttoned, the quickest. He let me keep on the lacy camisole I’d worn underneath it, next tugging off the cozy jersey skirt that was one of my favorite things to wear for travel. When he frowned, I pushed my lip out at him.

“Now Button…” Tom let his finger trail up and down my leg. “What’s the idea here? Why do your tights go all the way up to your waist?”

I shrugged. “It was a little cold at home, and on the plane. Needed the coverage.”

Tom slid his hand up between my thighs, chuckling when he made contact. “Dunno, love, you feel pretty warm to me. And wet, I might add.”

“Asshole,” I sighed. “Can we get on with this?”

“Get on with this?!” Tom cried. He helped me arch my hips off the floor, capturing my tights and my knickers in his hands so he could slide them off. “Get on? I am trying to seduce you here!”

“Trying to is right…” The words had barely escaped from my lips when Tom leapt up and straddled me at the hips. He grabbed my wrists and held my arms down at my sides.

“Minx! You’ll pay for that!” He cackled as I wiggled beneath him.

“Add it to my tab?” I peeked at his cock, which was hard against my belly. “Looks like I’m not the only one ready to go, dude.”

“Brat!” Tom looked indignant.

“I may be a brat but…” I smirked up at him. “Am I wrong?”

His reply was to release my wrists, then start tickling me around the belly. I squealed with delight, revelling in the delicious agony of having a naked Tom sitting on top of me.

“Hahahahahaha! Jerk! At least let me…” I helped Tom pull off my camisole, then work the clasp on my bra. He lay on me for a moment, looking down at my breasts, past my belly to my legs and my feet. When I started wiggling my toes at him, he laughed then met my gaze again.

He kissed me, humming with contentment as he teased my tongue with his. Nibbling on my bottom lip, then sucking on it. I held onto him, slipping my hands around his back while my legs parted for him. Rolling his hips, Tom ground his cock against my clit and I whined shamelessly. He didn’t tease me much longer, instead entering me as soon as I could take him in hand and guide him into place.

We were hot, hungry for each other, eager to the point of desperation. This was connection. Talking everyday, wearing his ring, sleeping in his blue t-shirt in his bed, these were all meaningful and important ways to be his woman. But they paled in comparison to lying in his arms, relishing the touch of his skin, the weight of his body on me.

Feeling the ache in my hips as I opened my legs wider, I moaned as his cock drove into me harder and faster. Filling me and fucking me and loving me. Grunting and panting, sometimes even laughing with me, he was solid and somhow also lithe in my embrace. I held on, seeking my clit out with my fingers, and as soon as I began to come, tightening around him, Tom was faster and harder still, and then we came together. I sought his lips, kissing him, for a taste of what was sweet and good. A taste of what was mine.

I squeezed him when I felt his body go a little slack. Nipping at his ear, I smiled when he peered at me.

“What was that for?”

“You made that sound, baby.” I brought my hands gently to rest on his lower back. “You made that sound for her.”

“Who her? What her?” Tom asked.

“The girl, that gorgeous buxom absolutely ripe morsel who conducted the SAG-AFTRA interview. In the video I saw, I heard you.”

“What sound?”

“You were laughing at some devastatingly clever thing she said, and it was like this sort of huff. Your totally unconscious nerdy Tom sound. I love that sound.”

“Well, I couldn’t help it,” replied Tom. “It was a good talk, we had a good time”

“Well, I’m actually not cross,” I relented. “You have my permission to sleep with her if the occasion presents itself.”

Tom leered at me. “What makes you think it hasn’t already?”

“You jerk!” I pinched his bottom.

“Ooh, do that again!”

“No! Bad boys don’t get pinches.”

“Erm, I rather think they do.”

“But I’m the birthday girl!”

“Right you are, Mrs. Button.” Tom snuggled into me. “Right you are.”

**Author's Note:**

> And in case you needed a reminder of how Carmen got her nickname: [Bedfordshire](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4767602).


End file.
